


you were always gold to me

by stydiasforever



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, I cried writing this, all the romantic pairings are minor, it's mostly sciles guys i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 13:57:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9610472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stydiasforever/pseuds/stydiasforever
Summary: Stiles and Scott are brothers. Always.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first Scott/Stiles fic and my first fic based on a platonic pairing, so bear with me. Sorry if it's a bit stydia-heavy at parts, I literally just sat down at my computer and 5k+ words spilled out and I was crying by the end of it. Inspired by Always Gold by Radical Face (which is THE best sciles song and you need to listen to it while reading this.)

The rickety old blue Jeep that should’ve never made it out of the eighties pulls into the driveway of 2926 Mountainview Court at eight that morning, just as it has every morning that week and every morning since Stiles got his learner’s permit. He honks the horn twice, just as he does every morning, and throws the Jeep in park to wait for Scott to step out the front door with his lacrosse stick slung over his back.

 

His fingers tap the wheel to the beat of whatever song is playing on the radio - he doesn’t recognize the song, but the Jeep only gets like ten stations and it’s better than country or Christian rock. After five minutes, he honks the horn again, hoping Melissa’s already work and he’s not waking her up - that would be bad for everyone.

 

At last, the front door swings open and Scott comes along, wearing a pair of jeans and a tight grey pullover sweater. He’s still carrying his lacrosse stuff, but he’s not struggling to balance it with his schoolbooks. He’s doesn’t stumble down the stairs or fumble with his keys as he locks the door behind him. His best friend became the embodiment of coordination and confidence overnight (literally). It’s taken some getting used to on Stiles’ part.

 

“Hey,” Scott says as he slides into the passenger seat.

 

“Hey,” Stiles answers, his tone equally monotonous.

 

He doesn’t bother with any more small talk and pulls out of the driveway, ready to embark on the five minute journey to his favourite place on Earth. Beacon Hills High School - the manifestation of everything he hates about the world: classes he can never pay attention in, teachers who don’t give a crap about him or anyone else, asshole jocks dating the girl he knows is too good for all of them.

 

“I’m sorry about last night,” Scott says, quietly, _finally,_ in a voice Stiles rarely hears. In fact, he’s not sure he’s heard it since the fourth grade when Scott borrowed - and accidentally destroyed - his razor scooter.

 

“You made out with Lydia,” Stiles states, wanting to make sure Scott is fully aware of his actions from the previous day.

 

Scott nods. “Yeah, I-“

 

“You yelled some really crappy things at me.”

 

Scott nods again, staring down at his lap remorsefully.

 

“And then you climbed out the fucking _window.”_

 

There’s a long silence, and Scott looks slightly afraid to speak.

 

“Stiles, I’m sorry.”

 

Stiles hits the brakes a bit too abruptly as they reach the intersection, and Scott’s lacrosse stick swings forward and clocks him in the head.

 

“Hey!” Scott exclaims, rubbing the back of his head.

 

Stiles looks over at him incredulously. “That was not even slightly my fault.”

 

Scott rolls his eyes, laughing. Stiles meets his line of vision and he feels a pang in his chest. This is how it should be, how it always has been. Just him and Scott.

 

“Yeah, _sure_.” Scott says sarcastically.

 

“Are you insinuating that I made the conscious decision to stop the car quickly, knowing that the abrupt motion would cause the stick to hit you in the head based on my knowledge of Newton’s first law?”

 

Scott furrows his eyebrows. “Well, yeah.”

 

Stiles finally cracks a smile, shaking his head.

 

“Whatever, man,” he mutters, but it’s not said with malice. He’s at least ninety percent over it, and he’s guessing it’ll be at ninety-five by the end of the week. It’s not entirely Scott’s fault, after all, and they are brothers. Brothers fight.

 

Scott looks at him with a mischievous grin a moment later.

 

“You know, making out with Lydia wasn’t even that good. Too much ton-“

 

“ _Dude,”_ Stiles groans, “not cool. Just because I’ve forgiven you doesn’t mean we get to joke around about my wildest fantasies, okay?”

 

The light turns green, and Stiles hits the gas.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

The day after Allison leaves for France, Scott buys a motorcycle. He doesn’t tell anyone; not his mom (who would probably forbid it if he didn’t possess supernatural healing powers), not even Stiles.

 

He shows up at Stiles’ house just before dinner, because it’s Sunday which means they’re ordering Chinese and watching The Walking Dead. It's guys' night, and Scott has been a part of the majority of them since as long as he can remember. It's no wonder he's never really felt the absence of a father figure (or Stiles a mother, for that matter.)

 

Stiles swings open the door, wearing a t-shirt that says "elevader" in big black letters above a photo of Darth Vader in an elevator. Scott's never seen it, which means it's a new purchase, and he's not even slightly surprised by this.

 

"Hey," Stiles says with a smile, running his hand through the hair that he's starting to grow out. It looks good, Scott has to admit. Much more grown up.

 

He steps aside for Scott to enter, closing the door behind him.

 

"My dad's just finishing work and then he'll bring home dinner, wanna play video games?" Stiles offers, his tone unusually calm and almost soothing.

 

Scott just quirks an eyebrow and nods. "Yeah, sure."

 

They settle into Stiles’ living room, Scott on the couch and Stiles sprawled out on the floor with his head resting back against the couch cushion. Stiles fires up the Xbox and within a few seconds, they’re shooting zombies in complete silence (well, except for the sound of heads being torn off and guns being fired.)

 

"You're weirdly quiet," Scott mutters as Stiles gets eaten by a zombie and the game is pausing.

 

"Yeah, well, I didn't really know if you felt like talking," Stiles says. "I mean, I know what today is."

 

"Stiles, why would I come here if I didn't wanna talk?"

 

Stiles blinks. "I have a better Xbox?"

 

Scott rolls his eyes, sinking deeper into the couch cushions and tossing his controller aside.

 

"Dude, you're allowed to be upset about this," Stiles turns to face him, turning off the game. "You love her. I get it."

 

Scott doesn't know if he does get it. He may be in love with Lydia, despite her nonexistent reciprocation thus far, but it's not the same. Allison was Scott's world, he can't just look the other way while she flies across the world. Who knows if she'll come back to Beacon Hills, or even to California. He doesn't know if he'll ever see her again. Stiles has hope - all Scott has is memories of a beautiful girl with a fire in her heart.

 

"You know you guys will find each other again," Stiles assures him. "You just gotta wait this one out. And in the mean time, you gained some serious street cred with the girls at school for dating Allison and hanging out with Lydia, so don't you worry about satisfying your little werewolf urges-"

 

"Stiles, oh my god. Shut up."

 

Stiles grins at the fact that he finally managed to make Scott crack a smile. It's taken a lot the past few weeks.

 

"You know what would actually cheer me up?" Scott asks.

 

"Porn?"

 

"I was gonna say extra egg rolls."

 

"Ah. Same difference."

 

Stiles unpauses the game and they fall into the same rhythm: less talking, more rapid virtual gunfire. Half an hour passes, and neither of the boys notice the sheriff is home until he's standing right in front of them holding two bags from Panda Express.

 

"You boys ever think about going outside, enjoying summer?" Noah asks, plopping the food down on the coffee table.

 

"Dad, I've already gone outside at least twice this month," Stiles quips, pausing the game. "Do you even know me?"

 

His father just sighs and goes to grab plates from the kitchen.

 

This sarcasm is so familiar to Scott that at this point he doesn't even hear it. Like Stiles himself, he's so used to it that he couldn't imagine life without it. He doesn't ever want to.

 

The sheriff passes Scott a container of orange chicken, a box of fried rice and three egg rolls. He doesn't even know when Stiles texted him (he also doesn't realize until later that Stiles put his own egg rolls on Scott's plate as well. They've officially reached the epitome of true friendship.)

 

They’re pretty quiet throughout dinner, and the duration of the Walking Dead episode. Usually when the sheriff is there they keep the deep chats to a minimum - they don’t want to bore him with their girl drama, and they certainly can’t talk about anything supernatural. Scott’s only beginning to get used to his own mother knowing about that stuff.

 

“Wanna go for a drive?” Stiles offers as they bring the empty plates into the kitchen.

 

“I should probably head home,” Scott says, scratching the back of his head. “I’m kinda tired. It’s been-“

 

“A long day,” Stiles finishes. “It’s okay, man, I get it.”

 

Scott smiles warmly, genuinely. He thanks the sheriff for dinner and heads out, revving up the bike and zooming out of the driveway down the quiet, dimly lit street.

 

He just drives around town for a while - past the school, the sheriff’s station, the hospital. His mom’s car is still there, he notices. It takes everything in him not to drive past the Argents’. He knows all he’ll find is a “for sale” sign and an empty driveway, anyways. _She’s gone_ , he reminds himself for the trillionth time that day.

 

He was almost sure he'd fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, but all he can do is stare at the ceiling once he climbs into bed a bit later. He doesn't feel the slightest bit of exhaustion, all he can feel is absence. Longing.

 

With a small groan, he pulls out his laptop. Maybe he can take advantage of his inability to sleep and get a head start on his summer reading.

 

He's been staring at the first page of the course requirements for five minutes, not actually processing any of the words, when he sees a little chat window open up in the bottom right corner of the screen.

 

**Stiles [12:13 am]**

You okay?

 

Scott shakes his head at himself for not remembering to appear offline on IM. Stiles is always online until at least midnight, and as far as Stiles knew, he had gone to bed an hour ago.

 

He sighs, typing a quick message back.

 

**Scott [12:14 am]**

Yeah, just can't sleep

 

A few seconds pass, and he considers putting the computer away and actually trying to sleep.

 

**Stiles [12:14 am]**

Wanna play halo for a while?

 

He knows that Stiles has to go work for his dad at the station at eight in the morning. He also knows that he'll stay up until an hour before then playing a video game that Scott likes better than he does, just because Scott had a rough day. Stiles is always like that. Always there for him.

 

**Scott [12:15 am]**

You should go to bed. You have work. I'm fine

 

Stiles' answer comes instantly.

 

**Stiles [12:15 am]**

I'll start the game.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

The cold air is piercing Stiles’ skin from the moment he walks out of the church.

 

There was a small service there, mainly to appease Allison’s very Catholic relatives that flew in from France, as well as some on her mother’s side. There’s enough of them to fill the first few rows, and Stiles sat in the fourth with Lydia on one side and Scott on the other. They were both crying, but he sat there, his face blank, for the entirety of the service.

 

Lydia got up to speak at one point, only for a minute, but she made it through the entire speech she prepared without breaking down. Her strength continues to astound him, especially over the past two weeks of what can only be described as torture in its purest form. When she returned to her seat she buried her head in his shoulder and cried for what felt like hours. He wrapped his jacket around her shoulders as he noticed the goosebumps covering her bare arms and pressed a kiss to her forehead before letting her go.

 

Now that he’s outside, his thin dress shirt doing very little to protect him from the brisk November afternoon, he feels everything. Every tear his friends have shed, every memory of Allison’s smile still ingrained in his memory; the sword that impaled her stomach now feeling as if it was piercing his heart.

 

Scott and Lydia are already in the car on their way to the cemetery where they’re going to bury her. He told them he would follow in the Jeep. The Jeep, which, of course, refuses to start until he turns the key in the ignition a good five times. He can feel his hands shaking on the steering wheel as he drives, hating the fact that the drive to the cemetery feels so normal and routine for him.

 

He parks far away from everyone else, trying to avoid the inevitability of various family members and friends asking him how he knew Allison. “She was my friend,” as accurate as it may be, feels so incredibly _wrong_ right now.

 

The crowds of people begins to drift towards her grave, the shiny new tombstone in-between her mother’s and her aunt’s.

 

Suddenly, he feels an overwhelming need to be anywhere but there. He doesn’t think he can handle them watching them lower her body into the ground. It’s not because he was closer to her than Scott or Lydia or Isaac or any of his grieving friends; he’s just the only one who knows it should’ve been him. She should be here, and he shouldn’t. It’s as simple as that.

 

So he grabs a bottle of his father’s whiskey from the backseat and wanders out back behind the crematorium, deciding he can just add this to the ever-growing list of things to feel guilty about. He unscrews the cap off the bottle and takes a swig. His alcohol tolerance is already way higher than a seventeen year old boy’s should be, so the burning in his throat is significantly less noticeable than the first time he stole alcohol from his dad back in freshman year.

 

He drinks a quarter of the bottle as quickly as he can, pacing back and forth as if the constant movement was the only thing keeping him on his feet. With every swig the voice in his head becomes clearer: _You’re a killer. You’re the reason she’s dead. You don’t deserve to be alive._

 

“There you are.”

 

He hears Scott’s voice from behind him and whips around to face him. He’s hit with a wave of nausea at the sudden movement, the alcohol finally getting into his system.

 

“Is it over?” Stiles says, his voice weaker than he hoped it would be. He’s supposed to be the strong one right now.

 

“Yeah,” Scott mutters, his tone sour. “Lydia was looking for you the whole time. I just sent her home with Kira.”

 

Another sharp pang of guilt hits him right in the chest. He couldn’t have taken a break from feeling sorry for himself to hold her hand on one of the hardest days of her life? Who the hell was he becoming?

 

“Fuck,” he groans, burying his head in his hands. “Fuck, Scott, I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t apologize to me, apologize to her.”

 

Stiles shakes his head, staring down at the bottle in his hand. “I’m not talking about that.”

 

Scott stares at him blankly, furrowing his eyebrows. _Of fucking course,_ Stiles thinks. _Of course this hasn’t crossed his mind._

 

“It’s all my fault,” he croaks. “Allison, all the people at the hospital, you and Isaac and your mom and a hundred other people getting hurt. It was all me.”

 

“Don’t,” Scott interjects immediately. “Do not blame yourself for this. There’s nothing you could’ve possibly that done that would’ve saved her, or-or changed anything that happened. This whole thing, the nogitsune, the oni, it wasn’t anything you _did,_ Stiles. It was something that happened to you, okay? You couldn’t control it.”

 

Stiles feels a surge of anger in his chest. He’s sure Scott’s wrong. He’s blinded by his annoyingly big heart and his devotion to Stiles, he can’t see what anyone else could. He can’t see that his best friend is responsible for everything in his life going to complete shit.

 

He clutches the bottle he’s holding tighter and smashes it against the wall, feeling the shards of glass slicing at his hand as he releases his grip and the liquid pours to the ground.

 

“Stiles, stop,” Scott says firmly, stumbling towards him and grabbing his wrist, brushing away the remaining pieces of glass on his bloody palm. “I can’t-I can’t lose you too, okay?” His voice is trembling now, and Scott looks more vulnerable than Stiles has seen him in a long time (probably since he almost took his own life at the motel of death a few months back).

 

Stiles opens his mouth to speak, but he just lets out a shaky breath instead. He moves his hand to his cheek to wipe a stray tear away, and the hot, salty tears mix with blood.

 

“I shouldn’t be the one breaking down right now,” Stiles says candidly. “You lost Allison. She was your…your _one._ ”

 

“It’s okay. I’m…I’m gonna be okay.” Scott manages a smile, albeit a sad one. “But Lydia and I…we’re not gonna get through this without you, man.”

 

Stiles nods, placing his hand on Scott’s shoulder. Scott steps closer and brings his best friend into his arms, letting his unshed tears stain Stiles’ white shirt.

 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles whispers, closing his eyes.

 

“Hey, Stiles,” Scott says softly, breaking the hug and resting his hands firmly on Stiles’ shoulders. “You’re gonna be okay too.”

 

Stiles prays to the god he doesn’t really believe in that Scott’s right.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

By the time the adrenaline wears off, they're all sitting around Scott's living room. It's two in the morning and Beacon Hills is completely silent, including the McCall household.

 

For once, it's peaceful.

 

Scott can feel Kira next to him, his hand resting on her legs, curled under her body on the couch. He's grateful for her calming presence. He can't stop thinking about everything that could've gone wrong if everything hadn't worked out the way it did. If the guards had stopped them, if Meredith hadn't helped, if they hadn't gotten Lydia to Deaton in time. He knows that if a single detail had fallen out of place, Lydia wouldn't be lying next to him right now in the arms of his best friend.

 

Malia's asleep in the armchair, Liam's on the floor by her feet. Kira's finally dozed off, allowing her exhaustion to overtake her desire to stay up with her friends. Lydia's been out since Melissa finished cleaning her up, protesting when Stiles offered her food and drinks.

 

Scott gets it, even if Stiles doesn't. All Lydia needs right now is to be with him. Just by Stiles holding her, Scott could see all the tension and distress fade from her face. He knows it's love because it's reminiscent of the way Allison looked around him, but he hasn't told Stiles that. He's smart - he'll figure it out on his own.

 

"Hey, you awake?" Stiles whispers, just as Scott's eyelids are getting heavy.

 

"Yeah," he answers.

 

Stiles looks from Scott to the beautiful girl laying down with her head on his lap, her fingers wrapped around his. He seems afraid to take his eyes off her for too long.

 

“I can’t believe I almost…” Stiles shakes his head, running a trembling hand through her hair, still damp from the shower. “I almost lost her, Scott.”

 

Scott nods, mustering up a sad smile. “She’s okay, though, Stiles. She’s gonna be alright.”

 

Stiles doesn’t seem convinced, quickly catching a tear before it can fall down his cheek.

 

Scott is grateful for Lydia’s continued existence on this Earth for a myriad of reasons - the way she radiates light in every room she walked into, her incredible brain that has saved his ass god knows how many times, her beautiful, loving heart that loved Allison just as much as he did. Perhaps most of all, he’s grateful that Stiles doesn’t have to endure the same pain he still carries with him everyday, every time he closes his eyes and his thoughts are filled with Allison’s desperate, trembling voice telling him she loved him.

 

He wouldn’t wish that kind of pain on his worst enemy. He’s glad he doesn’t have to see it in his best friend.

 

“I’m not gonna let anything happen to her again,” Stiles says in a hushed tone, careful not to wake her.

 

“I know,” Scott affirms. “Neither will I.”

 

They sit in silence for a few minutes, both of them reclining their bodies into a more comfortable sleeping position while being mindful of not waking Lydia and Kira.

 

“Hey, I was thinking we could go get tacos in Sacramento, you know, when the whole Beast thing clears up,” Stiles suggests right before they fall asleep. “Maybe we could crash at Greg’s place and stop at the Radium on the way back, catch the new _Thor_.”

 

Scott’s hit with a wave of nostalgia. This particular road trip - tacos, staying at Stiles’ cousin Greg’s house, going to a creepy old movie theatre called the Radium - is one of their best traditions. They did it when they were kids and Stiles’ dad needed a reason to get out of the house after Claudia died, then continued the tradition after they got their drivers’ licenses and could go on their own. The last time they went was the summer before junior year - before Jennifer Blake, before the nogitsune, before Allison died. Times were simpler then.

 

“Yeah, sounds good,” Scott says casually.

 

“Okay, cool.”

 

Scott grabs a pillow and places it behind his head, shutting his eyes and reaching for Kira’s hand. He gently intertwines their fingers and feels her squeeze back. He finally falls asleep, feeling surprisingly content.

 

Scott wakes a couple of hours later, his hearing suddenly becoming hyperaware of two familiar voices murmuring in the darkness.

 

“You’re okay, Lydia, you’re safe,” Stiles’ voice breaks the silence, his tone comforting.

 

Lydia, who had obviously waken up in a state of panic, is sitting on Stiles’ lap with her head buried in his chest. She’s crying, almost inconsolably. Her hand is gripping his t-shirt, holding onto the fabric for dear life.

 

“You got me out,” Lydia whimpers, as if she’s just now recalling the experience. “You, Scott, everyone…you risked your lives for me. You…Stiles, you were so brave.”

 

“Lydia, I just did what I had to do,” he says dismissively, stroking her back. “I couldn’t lose you.”

 

Every sob that leaves Lydia breaks Scott's heart a little more. He listens to his best friend, murmuring soothing nothings to her, and watches as her body relaxes and her eyes close again. Stiles leans back so their bodies are horizontal and she's laying almost entirely on top of him. It would normally be an uncomfortable position, but they both look incredibly at ease.

 

They fall back asleep within moments, but Scott is left lying awake. Thinking.

 

Scott knows now that the universe has most definitely forgiven Stiles for it all, if he was ever truly at fault (in Scott’s mind, he isn’t.) Stiles told him what his father had said: _Sometimes it doesn't truly feel okay again until there's a kind of counterbalance. Like instead of taking a life, you manage to save one._ And that’s exactly what he did. He saved Lydia’s life.

 

But Scott thinks that maybe the universe overcompensated a bit this time, because one thing is becoming more apparent every day. The girl in Stiles’ arms right now, falling asleep to the beating of his heart, loves him. She loves him more than Stiles could’ve ever hoped or dreamed. Scott doesn’t know if he knows it yet, or even if Lydia’s fully aware of it, but he knows they’ll figure it out sooner or later.

 

He hopes it’s sooner. They deserve that.

 

 

-

 

 

Scott's phone rings around midnight.

 

He begrudgingly rolls over in bed, grabbing his phone and mumbling a tired "hello?" as his eyes adjust to the room lit only by the nearly-full moon out the window.

 

"Scott, hey, I didn't wake you did I?" Its Stiles, which he can tell from the first annoyingly loud syllable.

 

Scott realizes quickly, after some of the grogginess fades, that he was actually expecting this call.

 

"You guys made it to DC?"

 

"Yeah," Stiles says, and Scott can hear him grinning. "It's already three here so we just brought some of the boxes in and decided to leave the rest for morning."

 

Stiles promised he would call as soon as they got there. They hadn't spoken since they said their goodbyes in front of Scott's house, where Lydia picked him up following a night of video games and smoking pot on the roof and driving around aimlessly in the Jeep for hours. They didn't fall asleep until about an hour before Lydia came and dragged them out of bed, telling Stiles it was time to go.

 

They had, however, exchanged hundreds of texts throughout the drive. Lydia did about three quarters of the driving, largely because while she was well-travelled, Stiles had rarely ventured outside Beacon County, let alone travelled across the country. Stiles kept Scott updated - possibly _too_ updated - on the details of their road trip.

 

**Stiles [11:40 am]**

Dude. Indiana is super boring. Lydia's made me listen to two Taylor Swift albums today. I MISS YOU

 

**Stiles [3:27 pm]**

I take back the Taylor Swift comment, her newest album is actually good

 

**Stiles [4:12 pm]**

Lydia let me pick music, I put on Green Day, we are now back to Lydia's music

 

**Stiles [7:34 pm]**

They don't have In n Out here!! I just had to eat Burger King. Fuck this Scott I'm moving back

 

**Stiles [10:29 pm]**

Checked in to a motel in Beaver City, Nebraska for the night. Thought I should tell u in case we get murdered here which is a very real possibility because this looks like the motel from psycho and now I'm scared to shower

 

**Stiles [8:34 am]**

I had the best sex of my life in NEBRASKA last night what is life

 

**Stiles [8:36 am]**

Still miss you though

 

Scott probably should’ve been annoyed by the texts, but he wasn’t. It’s early summer, and with his best friend gone he has little else to do but work at the animal clinic, sit around playing video games, go for jogs around the block and do stuff around the house for his mom. The texts have been keeping him entertained at the very least.

 

"So how's the school?" Scott asks, sitting up and turning on his bedside lamp.

 

Stiles, across the country, is smiling as he talks to his best friend. Lydia, worn out from the drive, sleeps soundly next to him in the single bed. She's squished into his side, her mouth hanging slightly open, and he couldn't be happier.

 

"It seems cool. I mean, there's not much to see at three A.M. on a Thursday," he says, adjusting his arm around Lydia as it starts to fall asleep. 

 

"Did you meet your roommate yet?"

 

There's a hint of sadness in Scott's voice, because they both know deep down that it was supposed to be them. The apartment, the vision, it's all gone now. Stiles needed to do what was right for him, and DC has one of the only pre-FBI programs in the country. Unfortunately, it’s a forty-hour drive from UC Davis.

 

"Not yet," Stiles says after an almost solemn pause. "He's not coming for another week, so I think Lydia’s gonna stay here a little while longer than we planned. I don’t start class 'til Monday, so she wants to do some sightseeing tomorrow. Tour the White House, take pictures with the Lincoln Memorial, all that stuff.”

 

“That sounds nice,” Scott says sincerely. Really, he can’t imagine being happier that Stiles and Lydia beat the odds and finally allowed themselves to be together. He’s never seen Stiles so at peace, and he’s _definitely_ never seen Lydia so happy.

 

Stiles, starting to drift off, lays his head back against the pillow. He looks around the room - all white walls and plain furniture, so clean compared to his bedroom back home. He doesn’t even know if his crime board would _fit_ in here. He doesn’t need it anymore, though. The supernatural, Beacon Hills, it’s all behind them. The past three years feel surreal, almost as if they were all an extremely vivid nightmare.

 

“I won’t see you until Thanksgiving, maybe Christmas,” Stiles murmurs. “I mean, unless you wanna see if the Jeep can make it across the country.”

 

Scott laughs, shaking his head. “I don’t think this Jeep would make it out of California.”

 

“Hey! You must treasure her, she’s been good to me,” Stiles exclaims. “But you’re probably right.”

 

Scott yawns and leans back. “November seems so far away. I guess we’re gonna have to get used to it, though. We’re like, adults now. We’re not always gonna be living in the same place anymore.”

 

"How the hell are we adults?" Stiles mutters in disbelief. "I mean, I know we've been through some really serious shit, but I still eat Lucky Charms for breakfast everyday and own a box of Star Wars action figures. I can't do _taxes,_ Scott."

 

Scott laughs. "I'm sure Lydia can help you with that. She might have to help me too."

 

Stiles' eyes once again land on the sleeping girl in his arms, her shiny hair strewn out over his white t-shirt. He knows that she has an alarm set for seven-thirty on her phone so they can try to beat the crowds and maximize their touristy time. He figures he owes it to her to try and fall asleep sometime soon so he's not a zombie tomorrow and can actually try to appreciate the museums she's bound to drag him to.

 

"I should probably get going," Stiles says. "Talk soon?"

 

They're not idiots. They know what the protocol is when you graduate; you move away from your friends, you call or text occasionally and maybe meet up for drinks once in a while when you're home for the holidays. Eventually, the calls stop and they're nothing but a memory, a reminder of your youth.

 

But here's the thing: they're _different_.

 

Maybe Scott will graduate and take over Deaton's vet clinic and settle down in Beacon Hills with a nice girl he met at school. Maybe Stiles will move from city to city for work, Lydia always by his side, never calling one place home for too long. Really, it doesn't matter.

 

From the first day they met in the sandbox on the first day of kindergarten, they've been so much more than best friends. They're brothers, no matter how many miles lie between them.

 

So, screw protocol.

 

"I'll Skype you tomorrow," Scott answers. "I wanna hear about you and Lydia's day. And you should probably call me Monday, too, after your first day in the program."

 

"Oh, we could do that thing where we both play a movie at the same time and talk on the phone while we watch it!" Stiles says. "Like when we were thirteen and I was grounded for driving my dad's car around the block."

 

He really should go to bed, but they talk for another forty-five minutes. Everything's changing in their lives, but this? This is the one thing that will always be the same.

 

Scott and Stiles, Stiles and Scott.

 

_Always._

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave feedback if you want, I'm blakesgrffin on tumblr :) x


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